


Between friends

by followthattardis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followthattardis/pseuds/followthattardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gives in.<br/>Castiel observes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between friends

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many things Dean and Castiel need to tell each other.  
> Here are a few big ones.  
> I owe a huge, HUGE thank-you to [adametogankfor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/adametogankfor/pseuds/adametogankfor), who beta'd a big part of this fic and whose enthusiastic comments made me keep writing it even though I could very well stop. I hope the ending (that your advice largely contributed to) won't disappoint you, dear.

This might not have been the best idea Dean’s ever had.

On the other hand, it probably wasn’t the worst either, because he has made some really shitty decisions over the years.

So. Not good, but he’s had worse. Time to start picking up the pieces. And if it turns out he can’t fit them back together the way they were, if he has just fucked up everything – well. He’s not sure what he’ll do then, but at the moment a bullet to the head sounds pretty appealing.

Slowly, he disentangles his fingers from Cas’s hair and lets his hands fall to his sides. He takes a large step back. And then another, just for good measure.

“Uh.”

Castiel stares at him.

Dean swallows and looks down at his hands, as if he couldn’t believe what they just did. He wishes Cas would respond in any way – speak, get mad, hell, even just turn away and leave - but he does no such thing. Castiel is silent, and he keeps staring and looking as if he’s ready to stand there for all eternity waiting for Dean to say something. So Dean tries again.

“Uh.”

Alright, Winchester, you don’t have to turn into the master of eloquence all of a sudden, but at least _some_ progress would be nice.

“Cas.”

Good, now we’re getting somewhere. _Baby steps_ , he tells himself, taking a deep breath that’s supposed to be calming but really isn’t.

“I… have no idea where this came from.”

Jesuschickenshitfuckinchrist. This was about as far from what he wanted to say as possible. It still doesn’t make Cas react in any way, though.

Take number five.

“I’m sorry.”

A soon as he says it, Dean wants to run into the nearest wall and knock himself unconscious.

“You don’t have to be.”

Cas’s lips moved. They definitely moved, plus there’s no one here but them, and Dean may not be right in the head (if what he’s just done is anything to go by), but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t reply to his own apology. Cas has spoken, which means Dean didn’t break his brain with the kiss, so that’s the good news.

“I understand.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to stare.

“You understand,” he repeats flatly.

Cas nods.

“I believe I do. We have been friends for years, and I have grown to know you quite well, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t stare anymore, he just gapes.

“We haven’t been on a hunt for a very long time. Two weeks and four days, to be precise.”

Dean’s not sure they’re having the same conversation any more.

“So?”

Cas squints at him, and that stupid squint always makes Dean want to jump him like there’s no tomorrow, but he knows better than to give in to that temptation for the second time in the span of five minutes.

“You have not been with a woman for at least that long.”

Dean makes a strangled noise.

“What are you-”

“I have noticed you like to have sex with strangers you meet when we are working a case. Like that police officer you spent the night with when we hunted down a shapeshifter in Missouri last month.”

Dean bites down on the inside of his cheek, because there’s a good chance he’ll start screaming.

“I have come to see that intercourse always makes you happier. More relaxed, more smiling. But it never lasts long. I thought maybe you were suffering because of the long break. I realize I am not an adequate substitute for the kind of women you engage in sexual activities with, but…” Cas gives him a small, comforting smile, and it’s fucking horrible. “I am your friend, and I don’t want to see you unhappy. So if you need someone to kiss before Sam finds us a new case, I would be glad to help. You know I’m always there if you need me, Dean.”

Dean’s brain has stopped working, but his muscles still move as he closes the space between them for the second time. His hands slide over Cas’s jaw and rest there, the touch feather-light. He stares at Cas, and Cas stares back at him, his lips gently curved upwards.

“Would you really let me do that?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas nods gravely.

“Would you kiss me back?”

There’s a beat, and Dean’s fully prepared to hear a gravelly “no”.

“Of course, if that is what you want.”

Dean brings their foreheads together and closes his eyes against all this bullshit, against the word “friends”, against “if you need someone to kiss”, against his own bottomless stupidity that let him believe there was something more on Cas’s part than just loyal friendship.

Then he lets go.

He drops his hands and brushes past Cas’s right shoulder on his way out.

He has just enough willpower left in him not to look back.

 

***

 

Cas comes to his room about fifteen minutes later, when Dean’s already gone through all five stages of grief in a sped-up process the only palpable result of which is a broken chair. Cas has to step over it to come into the room, and as he does, Dean pretends not to notice. He starts typing away on his laptop, fingers banging furiously against the keyboard, great concentration on his face. “Sjffodjwofhusodifpsajslp.” Perfect.

“Dean, can we talk?”

“A bit busy right now, Cas.”

Cas looks aimlessly around the room. Dean still feigns deep interest in the contents of his screen, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the stiffness in Cas’s posture. Not the kind of stiffness he used to show when his vessel still felt strange and unfamiliar, like somebody else’s clothes. That stiffness has been long gone, even before Cas fell. This is an entirely human kind of stiffness that betrays simple discomfort. Dean grits his teeth.

Everything will be awkward from now on. Every single word that passes between them will be a quick trip to Awkwardville and back, and it’s all his fault.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks in a laudable yet unsuccessful attempt to act casual.

“Looking for a new case.”

Dean desperately tries not to look up, and fails. Not nearly as offhandedly as he’d like to, he glances over the edge of the laptop, and what he sees there is hurt.

Castiel is hurt.

He has hurt Castiel.

“I see,” Cas says, and there is no way those two words could be uttered in a more meaningful way. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance.” He turns around to leave, but Dean’s voice stops him.

“Come here.”

Cas pauses on the threshold and hovers there, not moving either in or out.

“I understand, Dean, it’s fine.”

“Cas, come here and sit the fuck down.”

Dean sets his laptop aside and swings his legs over the bed, making room for Cas to sit next to him. As the mattress dips under Cas’s weight, Dean finally grasps the full meaning of the expression “to have your heart in your mouth”. His heart is beating against the back of his throat and it _will_ move up to his mouth before he’s done saying what he needs to say. Maybe it will even come out entirely and just leave, and wouldn’t that be a perfect solution to all his problems. Just get rid of the damn thing for good.

“Let’s cut the crap,” Dean begins.

“I don’t mind if I’m not enough,” Cas says quickly, before Dean has a chance to gather his thoughts. “You don’t need to explain to me there is a difference between kissing those women and kissing me. I know there is. I just thought that since you’d kissed me anyway, it could work for you. I am truly sorry it didn’t.”

Dean opens his mouth, and promptly closes it. Then he opens it again, and closes it, and it continues for a few seconds before his lips are able to form words again.

“Not _enough_?”

Cas looks plain uncomfortable now, shoulders shifting and hands twitching in his lap. “You know what I mean, Dean. It would probably be much easier for you if I had taken a female vessel, but I couldn’t have anticipated that this would be an issue.” He pauses, his expression oddly nostalgic. “I never anticipated any of this.”

Dean wishes he had more than one chair in his room, because the urge to smash something into pieces is once again overpowering. He cards his fingers through his hair, searching for the right words. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t find them.

“It’s not about male or female bodies… vessels. Whatever.”

Cas frowns.

Dean wants to punch him.

“Friends don’t kiss friends as a favor,” he manages.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird.”

Cas considers it for a moment, and Dean could swear he sees the little cogs in his head turning.

“But you kissed me.”

“I did.”

“And we are friends.”

There’s that motherfucking word again.

“Yes.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, and only frowns deeper, obviously thinking hard on the matter. Dean tugs at his hair so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t come out in fistfuls.

“Does it mean you do not wish for us to be friends anymore?” Cas asks finally, and Dean could cry with frustration.

“No, you dumb fucker, it means I want us to be more.”

So it has come to this. All or nothing. And with Dean’s track record, it’ll most likely be nothing. He’ll be left with a big fat sack full of nothing and a memory of how he used to have a best friend named Castiel before he wanted to have a lover named Castiel, so now he has neither.

Cas leans in a bit, searching for his gaze.

“More?” he repeats. “More how?”

He’s gonna make him say it. Cas’s endearing, infuriating ignorance will force Dean to spell out his feelings in big golden letters so that he’ll never be able to look in the mirror again.

“I want you. To see me. As more. Than a friend. Got it?”

If it’s possible, Cas looks even more dazzled than before.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot see you as more than I do now, Dean,” he says slowly, his tone not even apologetic, like he’s just stating a simple fact, an indisputable truth. The heartfelt “cannot” buzzes in Dean’s head, and his stomach sinks, because _of course you can’t, how stupid of me, why would you (what’s there to see, anyway), you just rebel for me and save me constantly, and even when you betray me, it’s somehow still for me, but it’s not like **that** , not in **that** way, never more than friends even if we’re standing an inch apart and you look like you’re pondering on the most efficient way to rip my clothes off – unless I’m seeing things, and wouldn’t it just be fucking hilarious if it was all in my head, like the hallucinations Sam had after you saved him from the Cage, like a new exercise in torture Alistair would come up with, fuck, that sounds just like him, that sounds like Hell all over again, FUCK-”_

Dean’s racing thoughts come to a screeching halt when Cas’s hand lands on his left arm, over the long-since-faded handprint. It’s not a romantic gesture, rather a friendly grip, and Dean feels he’s going to be sick.

Cas leans in slightly, and Dean can tell he’s just eager to explain, to make him understand, even if it’s the last thing Dean wants right now.

The explanation comes anyway, in the form of a question.

“How could I see you as more when you are already everything?”

Dean’s mouth twitches, and suddenly his brain is full of white noise.

Cas’s hand still rests on his arm, just as friendly and casual as before.

Dean’s head may be swimming, but all the while it desperately tries to connect the dots. Doesn’t “everything” mean “everything”? And if so, shouldn’t it technically include… everything?

It’s a big concept, overwhelming and scary. Except not to Dean. Dean knows what he wants from that “everything”, which part _exactly_ , and he confidently takes his pick.

He uncurls his fingers from where they were clutching at the edge of the bed, and scoots closer to Cas. He reaches out his right hand to brush it over Cas’s cheek, making sure to be slow this time. The first kiss was passionate and rushed and impatient (not to mention one-sided), and it’s only now that Dean realizes how Cas could have interpreted it. Of course the moron would think Dean was being a horndog ready to jump whatever body heat he detected around him because it’s been too long since he last got laid. Of-fucking-course.

Dean’s fingertips trace the outline of Cas’s jaw, his eyes following the movement. He can feel Cas’s gazed locked on him, but he dares not look up. A nauseating feeling is struggling to get through to his consciousness, telling him there’s a chance he still got it all wrong. That it’s not what Cas meant, and he has no right to do what he’s doing. He keeps slowing down, until his fingers barely move at all, resting almost completely still over the corner of Cas’s mouth.

Dean can’t believe he’s doing it, because he’s always been the “if you want it, go get it” kinda guy, but he lingers for as long as he can, offering Cas a way out.

Cas doesn’t take it.

“If you need more time, I am happy to wait, but I have a distinct feeling you want to kiss me,” he says.

Dean rolls his eyes and has to bite his tongue not to say “no shit, Sherlock”.

“And I have a distinct feeling you don’t realize that what you just said was a love confession,” he says instead.

“No, I know that,” Cas protests. “Despite what you seem to think, I know what I’m doing. I know what you are to me, and I know I love you, but sometimes what you do is so confusing that I wo-”

Dean’s free hand grabs Cas’s lapel and brings their lips together much more eagerly and desperately than he’d originally intended (what with trying to show Cas the first kiss wasn’t only a distraction for a horny, absolutely not-romantically-interested Dean Winchester), but really, _really_ , how can he be expected to control himself when the way Cas says “I love you” makes it seem like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one they don’t talk about because it’s so obvious there’s no need to even bring it up.

The situation doesn’t get any easier for Dean when he feels Cas respond, slotting their mouths together and parting his lips invitingly. The realization strikes Dean like lightning: he’s being kissed back. For the first time ever, _Castiel kisses him_. And he does not only that; Cas’s right hand slides up from Dean’s shoulder to cup his face, while his left tugs at Dean’s shirt and pulls him closer, so that their chests are flush. Dean can feel Cas’s heartbeat even through all the layers that separate them, which means it must be thumping really hard. The thought makes Dean’s own heart accelerate so fast he’s almost sure he’ll drop dead before they break apart.

But of course he doesn’t, and they continue to melt into each other until they both can’t breathe.

 

***

 

“What was that crap about helping me only as a friend, huh?” Dean asks, his palms lying heavy on the nape of Cas’s neck as he traces the sides of Cas’s face with his thumbs.

Cas worries his bottom lip, and though it’s unquestionably adorable, it also makes a pang of anxiety spike through Dean’s body. This is too good, being able not only to kiss Cas, but to be kissed back. It’s simply too perfect, and something will surely go wrong any second now, because that’s just how Dean’s life is.

“Cas?”

Castiel shakes his head, or rather tries to, because Dean’s hands are still holding his face.

“I didn’t think you’d consider me as anything else, seen as my vessel…” Cas trails off, and for a moment Dean is very confused, until it hits him.

“You thought you couldn’t be more cause you’re not a chick,” he says, and he could almost laugh, because really? That’s the only problem?

Cas remains deadly serious, though.

“I am sorry. Like I told you, I have never imagined this could prove problematic at any point. Had I known, I would have tried to-”

But Dean stops him right then and there, capturing Cas’s mouth with his own.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” he murmurs against Cas’s lips. “I don’t give a flying fuck that your meat suit’s not a girl.”

“But all those women you-”

“Cas.” Dean leans back so that he can look him in the eye. “I like women, and I like sex. And I like you. Do you see anything mutually exclusive here? Cause I don’t.”

It takes a moment for the smile to bloom on Cas’s face, but when it does, it is worth, oh so worth waiting for.

“So you don’t mind my vessel is male?” he asks, and Dean can practically see the relief washing over him, like an impossible weight has just been lifted off his shoulders.

Dean traces his thumb across Cas’s lips and kisses his jaw.

“Your vessel has always been, objectively speaking, a hot piece of ass. But you made it yours. Jimmy Novak was a sack of potatoes compared to you.” He kisses down Cas’s neck now, all the way to the collar of his shirt. “And it wouldn’t be the same if you had taken a different vessel. Even if it was some hot chick.” Dean takes a break from talking for just enough time to leave a hickey behind Cas’s left ear. “I wouldn’t have you in any other vessel, okay?”

As soon as he says it, he’s forced to reconsider.

“Well, I probably would, because it would still be you, but-”

He can’t finish, because Cas pushes him back onto the bed and slides over him, a new sort of determination in his movements. It makes Dean think Cas has just heard exactly what he needed to hear.

So he repeats it. It doesn’t matter that Cas knows already; it matters that Dean should reassure him about it, every single day if necessary. He says it again, and again, and again, rephrasing it sloppily, and each time he does Cas only seems to become more determined to drive him crazy with his mouth.

“It’s only about you,” Dean murmurs. Cas kisses his neck. “I love your vessel. But it’s you.” Cas runs his tongue against Dean’s collarbone, pulling the edge of his shirt aside to do it. “Whatever vessel you chose, it wouldn’t matter.” Cas tilts Dean’s chin up and kisses the tip of it. “I’d still fall for you.” Cas moves up to kiss Dean’s eyelids, and they flutter against his lips as Dean mouths, words slightly slurred, “Why haven’t we done this sooner… why did we never move past the friendship stage, all these years…”

Cas stills, stopping mid-kiss. He pulls away, and Dean’s heart skips a beat.

“What’s wrong?”

Cas leans back, resting his hands against Dean’s stomach, and he sighs.

There are a thousand alarm bells ringing out in Dean’s head. Oh God, please no. Not again. Why must there always be _something_?

Dean heaves himself up to sit on the bed, which effectively lands Cas straight in his lap. He winds his arm around Cas’s waist and looks up at him, concern muddying the desire that swam before his eyes just a moment ago.

“What’s wrong, Cas?”

From up close and in the blinding light of the ceiling lamp that inundates the room, Cas’s eyes appear almost silver as they meet Dean’s.

“I don’t want to lose it,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“Lose what, Cas?” Dean prompts, trying to ignore the panic rising in his chest in persistent waves.

“Your friendship.”

Dean frowns.

“Why would you lose it?”

Cas sighs again and tries to free himself from Dean’s embrace to stand up, but Dean doesn’t let go. He keeps his arm locked tight, his other hand resting lightly on Cas’s thigh.

“Why would you lose it?” he repeats.

“Human feelings are complicated,” Cas manages, turning his head away. “It is not difficult to imagine my lack of experience in human relationships will result in me saying or doing something you will not like.”

“It’s not like it didn’t happen before, and it changed nothing between us, right?” Dean offers, still unsure what the real problem is.

“It will be different now,” Cas explains, voice tight. “I have been informed that romantic relationships are not the same as platonic ones. If one day you decide we are not good for one another, we will not be able to go back to being friends like before.”

“Why do you assume we won’t work out?” Dean asks, and he almost shivers at how cold it sounded.

“I assume nothing. I am simply saying that your friendship means too much to me to risk it.”

Dean cannot believe his ears. He loosens his grip on Cas’s waist and lets both his hands fall down by his sides. Cas climbs off of Dean’s lap, moving to stand by the bed.

“I got carried away,” he says stiffly. He smoothes down his hair, rumpled by Dean’s impatient fingers, and straightens out his shirt. “I will not risk your friendship for anything,” he declares firmly. “Anything.”

Dean’s so furious he sees black spots dancing in his field of vision.

“You won’t risk my friendship for my love, is that it?”

Cas gives him a desperate look, soundlessly pleading with him to understand, but Dean doesn’t, and he won’t.

“That’s bullshit, Cas, and you know it.”

“No. It’s me trying to make sure I won’t ruin this. And that you won’t-” Cas cuts himself off, but it’s too late.

“And that I won’t what?” Dean springs from the bed and crowds Cas’s personal space, gripping his arms. His fingers hook into Cas’s muscles so hard it must be painful, but Cas doesn’t even flinch.

“That I won’t do what, Cas?”

He knew, he fucking _knew_ it was about him.

“You are so loyal, Dean,” Cas sighs, and it’s so out of context and not related to anything that Dean has no idea what to do with it. “Your loyalty is so fierce. It pulled me back from the edge more than once. You wouldn’t give up on me even when I was so far gone… It will never cease to amaze me.”

“Cas, what-”

“I know what it is to be your friend,” Cas interrupts him. “And I know what _you_ are as a friend. I had time to learn it, and to experience it first-hand. But as a... I believe ‘lover’ is the correct term? As a lover, I don’t know you.”

Dean shakes his head to clear it, but it does nothing to help him work through the mess of his thoughts.

“But you will,” he says weakly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Cas protests. He takes Dean’s hands by the wrists and gently removes them from where they still clutch at Cas’s shirt. Dean lets him.

“It does matter. I need to know this will work. If it doesn’t, and we cannot maintain the friendship we had before, then I lose everything. This goes both ways, Dean.”

Cas’s expression is heartbreaking as he makes an aborted move to touch Dean’s shoulder. “If you’re everything, and I lose you, then I have nothing.”

Dean struggles to breathe past the lump in his throat. What scares him the most is that for the briefest moment, he actually understands Cas’s logic, and almost, _almost_ falls for it.

Almost.

“What a load of crap,” he says. Cas’s eyes widen slightly, but Dean doesn’t give him time to protest. “Utter horseshit. You’re afraid you don’t have enough human experience not to fuck this up? Well, let me tell you a little something about human experience. Fucking up is basically all it consists of. Do you think people only start relationships when they’re sure they will work? Fuck no. If they did that, no one would ever start a relationship with anyone. You _never_ know if it will work. No one ever does. The human thing is that you try anyway.”

Cas stares at him, face unreadable, and Dean honestly can’t tell if he’s getting through to him or not.

“I understand you don’t want to jeopardize this... this bond we have, alright? But you can’t be so defensive about it. If you really cared about me, you’d take that risk. Do you care, Cas?”

The question is so cruel, so maliciously rhetoric that Dean feels guilt creeping up his chest. He ignores it and pushes on.

“Do you care for me enough to risk me?”

He waits a heartbeat.

Then another.

Cas’s answer comes crushing down on him like a tsunami wave, scooping him up and tossing him across the bed like a rug doll. Before he knows it, he has arms full of an ex-angel and ears full of promises. He sinks his fingers into Cas’s hair and pulls him into himself, pulls him as close as he can.

_Castiel, Castiel, you ludicrous creature. You couldn’t even give me up for me.  
_


End file.
